Mannerism: The Crisis of the Renaissance and the Origin of Modern Art (Belknap Press)

The Roll Call (Perfect Library)

Beneath the Ashes:: An Alaska Mystery

MISS STARKEY. This one.

CULVER. Put it in the fire. (Miss Starkey _obeys. Both the women showsatisfaction in their different ways_.) Give me the acceptance. (_Hetakes the letter of acceptance and reads it_.)

MRS. CULVER (_while he is reading the letter_). Miss Starkey, you lookvery pale. Have you had any dinner?

MISS STARKEY. Not yet, madam.

MRS. CULVER. You poor dear! (_She strokes_ Miss Starkey. _They both lookat the tyrannical male_.) I'll order something for you at once.

MISS STARKEY. I shall have to go to the post first.

CULVER (_glancing up_). I'll go to the post myself. I must have air,air! Where's the envelope? (_Exit_ Miss Starkey _quickly, back_.) (Mrs.Culver _gently takes the letter from her husband and reads it_. Culver_drops into a chair_.)

MRS. CULVER (_putting down the letter_). Darling!

CULVER. I thought I was a brute?

MRS. CULVER (_caressing and kissing him_). I do so love my brute, and Iam so happy. Darling! But you are a silly old darling, wasting all thistime.

CULVER. Wasting all what time?

MRS. CULVER. Why, the moment I came in again I could see you'd decidedto give way. (_With a gesture of delight_.) I must run and tell thechildren. (_Exit, L_.)

JOHN. Fancy me having to go back to school the son of a rotten baronet,and with the frightful doom of being a rotten baronet myself. What pricethe anti-hereditary-principle candidate! Dad, I hope you won't die justyet--it would ruin my political career. Stay me with flagons!

CULVER. Me too!

CURTAIN.

ACT III

ACT III

_The next day, before lunch_. Hildegarde _and_ John _are together_.

JOHN (_nervously impatient_). I wish she'd come.

HILDEGARDE. She'll be here in a moment. She's fussing round dad.

JOHN. Is he really ill?

HILDEGARDE. Well of course. It came on in the night, after he'd had timeto think things over. Why?

JOHN. I read in some paper about the Prime Minister having only a_political_ chill. So I thought perhaps the pater--under the circs--

HILDEGARDE (_shaking her head_). You can't have political dyspepsia.Can't fake the symptoms. Who is to begin this affair, you or me?

JOHN. Depends. What line are you going on with her?

HILDEGARDE. I'm going to treat her exactly as she treats me. I've justthought of it. Only I shan't lose my temper.

JOHN. Sugarsticks?

HILDEGARDE. Yes.

JOHN. You'll never be able to keep it up.

HILDEGARDE. O yes I shall. Somehow I feel much more mature than I didyesterday.

JOHN. More mature? Stay me with flagons! I was always mature. If youknew what rot I think school is...! Well, anyway, you can begin.

HILDEGARDE. You're very polite to-day, Johnnie.

JOHN. Don't mention it. My argument 'll be the best, and I want to keepit for the end, that's all.

MRS. CULVER (_with admirable self-control_). Of course, my pet. But youknow the matter is quite, quite settled. Your father and I settled ittogether last night, and the letter of acceptance is in the hands of theGovernment by this time.

JOHN. It isn't, mater. It's here. (_Pulls the letter out of hispocket_.)

MRS. CULVER. John! What--

JOHN. Now, now, mater! Keep calm. This is really your own doing. Paterwanted to go to the post himself, but it was raining a bit, and you'realways in such a fidget about his getting his feet wet you wouldn't lethim go, and so I went instead.

HILDEGARDE. Yes, mummy darling, you must acknowledge that you wereputting temptation in Johnnie's way.

JOHN. Soon as I got outside, I said to myself: 'I think the pater oughtto have a night to think over this affair. It's very important. And hecan easily send round an answer by hand in the morning.' So I didn'tpost the letter. I should have told you earlier, but you weren't downfor breakfast, and I had to go out afterwards on urgent privatebusiness.

HILDEGARDE. Of course it isn't settled. Mother darling, we simply mustlook the facts in the face. Fact one, the letter is here. Fact two, thewhole family is most frightfully upset. Dad's ill--

MRS. CULVER. That was the lobster.

JOHN. It wasn't.

MRS. CULVER. Yes, dear. Lobster always upsets him.

JOHN. It didn't this time.

MRS. CULVER. How do you know?

JOHN. I know, because _I_ ate all his lobster. He shoved it over to me.You couldn't see for the fruit-bowl.

HILDEGARDE. No, mamma sweetest. It's this baronetcy business that'sknocked poor papa over. And it's knocked over Johnnie and me too. I'mperfectly, perfectly sure you acted for the best, but don't you thinkyou persuaded father against his judgment? Not to speak of our judgment!

MRS. CULVER. I've only one thought--

HILDEGARDE (_caressing and kissingher mother_). I know! I know! Father's happiness. Our happiness. Mamma,please don't imagine for a single instant that we don't realise that.You're the most delicious darling of an old mater--

HILDEGARDE (_nods_). I've aged in a single night. I've become ever soserious. This baronetcy business has shown me that I've gotconvictions--and deep convictions. I admit I'm a different girl to-day.But then everything's different to-day. The whole house is different.Johnnie's different. Papa's missed going to the office for the firsttime in eight months. (_Very sweetly_.) Surely you must see, mamma, thatsomething ought to be done, and that you alone can do it.

MRS. CULVER (_looking at her little finger_). I shouldn't dream oftrying to influence your father once he had decided. And he _has_decided.

HILDEGARDE (_sweetly_). Mamma, you're most tremendously clever--farcleverer than any of us--but I'm not sure if you understand the attitudeof the modern girl towards things that affect her convictions.

MRS. CULVER (_sweetly_). Are you the modern girl.

HILDEGARDE. Yes.

MRS. CULVER. Well, I'm the ancient girl. And I can tell you this--you'revery like me, and we're both very like somebody else.

HILDEGARDE. Who's that.

MRS. CULVER. Eve.

JOHN. Come, mater. Eve would never have learnt typewriting. She'd havegone on the land.

MRS. CULVER. John, your sister and I are not jesting.

HILDEGARDE. I'm so glad you admit I'm serious, mamma. Because Iam--very. I don't want to threaten--

MRS. CULVER. Threaten, darling?

HILDEGARDE (_firmly, but quite lightly and sweetly_). No, darling._Not_ to threaten. The mere idea of threatening is absurd. But it wouldbe extremely unfair to you not to tell you that unless you agree tofather refusing the title, I shall have to leave the house and live bymyself. I really shall. Of course I can easily earn my own living. Iquite see that you have principles. But I also have principles. If theyclash--naturally it's my place to retire. And I shall, mamma dearest.

MRS. CULVER. Is that final?

HILDEGARDE. Final, mummy darling.

MRS. CULVER. Then, my dearest child, you must go.

HILDEGARDE (_still sweetly_). Is that final?

MRS. CULVER (_still sweetly_). Final, my poor pet.

JOHN (_firmly_). Now let _me_ say a word.

MRS. CULVER (_benignly_). And what have you got to say in the matter?You've already been very naughty about that letter. Do try not to beridiculous. Give me the letter. This affair has nothing to do with you.JOHN (_putting the letter in his pocket_). Nothing whatever to do withme! Mater, you really are a bit too thick. If it was a knighthood, Iwouldn't care. You could have your blooming knighthood. Knighthoods docome to an end. Baronetcies go on for ever. I've told the dad, and I'lltell you, that _I will not have_ my political career ruined by anybaronetcy. And if you insist--may I respectfully inform you what I shalldo? May I respectfully inform you--may I?

MRS. CULVER. John!

JOHN. I shall chuck Siege and go into the Flying Corps. And that's flat.If you really want to shorten my life, all you have to do is to stick tothat bally baronetcy.

MRS. CULVER. Your father won't allow you to join the Flying Corps.

JOHN. My father can't stop me. I know the mess is expensive, but thepay's good, and I've got L150 of my own. Not a fortune! Not a fortune!But enough, quite enough. _A short life and a merry one_. I went to seeCaptain Skewes at the Automobile this morning. One of our old boys. He'sdelighted. He gave me Lanchester's 'Aircraft in Warfare' to read. Hereit is. (_Picking up the book_.) Here it _is_! I shall be sitting up allnight to-night reading it. _A short life and a merry one_.

JOHN. Not in the least, mater. I'm merely telling you what will happenif father accepts that piffling baronetcy.

MRS. CULVER (_checking a tear; very sweetly_). Well, my pets, you makelife just a little difficult for me. I live only for you and yourfather. I think first of your father, and then of you two. For myself, Iam perfectly indifferent. I consider all politics extremely silly. Therenever were any in my family, nor in your father's. And to me it's mostextraordinary that your father should catch them so late in life. Ialways supposed that after thirty people were immune. (_To_ John.) You,I suppose, were bound to have them sooner or later, but that _Hilda_should go out of her way to contract them--well, it passes me. It passesme. However, I've no more to say. Your father had made up his mind toaccept the title. You want him to refuse it. I hate to influence him(Hildegarde _again hides a cynical smile_) but for your sakes I'll tryto persuade him to alter his decision and refuse it.

JOHN (_taking her arm_). Come along then--now! I'll go with you to seefair play. (_He opens the door, L, and_ Mrs. Culver _passes out. Thenstopping in the doorway, to_ Hildegarde) Who did the trick? I say--whodid the trick?

HILDEGARDE (_nicely_). Pooh! You may be a prefect at school. But hereyou're only mamma's wee lamb! (_She drops on to the sofa_.)

HILDEGARDE. But how did you know I should be here--at this time? I'msupposed to be at the Food Ministry till one o'clock?

TRANTO. I called for you at the Ministry.

HILDEGARDE (_leaning forward_). That's quite against the rules. Therules are made for the moral protection of the women-clerks.

TRANTO. They told me you'd left early.

HILDEGARDE. Why did you call?

TRANTO. Shall I be frank?

HILDEGARDE. Are you ever?

TRANTO. I wanted to walk home with you.

HILDEGARDE. Are you getting frightened about that next article of mine?

TRANTO. No. I've lost all interest in articles.

HILDEGARDE. Even in my articles?

TRANTO. Even in yours. I'm only interested in the writer of yourarticles. (_Agitated_.) Miss Hilda, the hour is about to strike.

HILDEGARDE. What hour?

TRANTO. Listen, please. Let me explain. The situation is this. Instincthas got hold of me. When I woke up this morning something inside mesaid: 'You must call at the Ministry for that young woman and walk homewith her.' This idea seemed marvellously beautiful to me; it seemed oneof the most enchanting ideas that had ever entered the heart of man. Ithought of nothing else all the morning. When I reached the Ministry andyou'd gone, I felt as if I'd been shot. Then I rushed here. If youhadn't been at home I don't know what I should have done. My fever hasbeen growing every moment. Providentially you _are_ here. I give youfair warning that I'm utterly in the grip of an instinct which isridiculously unconventional and which will brook no delay. I repeat, thehour is about to strike.

HILDEGARDE (_rousing herself_). Before it actually strikes, I want toask a question.

TRANTO. But that's just what _I_ want to do.

HILDEGARDE. Please. One moment of your valuable time.

TRANTO. The whole of my life.

HILDEGARDE. Last night, why did you advise papa to give way to mamma andaccept the baronetcy?

TRANTO. Did I?

HILDEGARDE. It seems so.

TRANTO. Well--er--

HILDEGARDE. You know it's quite against his principles, and against mineand Johnnie's, not to speak of yours.

TRANTO. The fact is, you yourself had given me such an account of yourmother's personality that I felt sure she'd win anyhow; and--and--forreasons of my own, I wished to be on the winning side. No harm in that,surely. And as regards principles, I have a theory about principles.Your father was much struck by it when I told him.

HILDEGARDE. Namely?

TRANTO. There are no principles in married life.

HILDEGARDE. Oh, indeed! Well, there may not be any principles in yourmarried life, but there most positively will be in mine, if I ever havea married life. And let me tell you that you aren't on the winning sideafter all--you're on the losing side.

TRANTO. How? Has your--

HILDEGARDE. Johnnie and I have had a great interview with mamma, andshe's yielded. She's abandoned the baronetcy. In half an hour from nowthe baronetcy will have been definitely and finally refused.

TRANTO. Great Scott!

HILDEGARDE. You're startled?

TRANTO. No! After all, I might have foreseen that you'd come out on top.The day before yesterday your modesty was making you say that yourmother could eat you. I, on the contrary, insisted that you could eatyour mother. Who was right? I ask: who was right? When it really comesto the point--well, you have a serious talk with your mother, and shegives in!

HILDEGARDE (_gloomily_). No! _I_ didn't do it. I tried, and failed. ThenJohnnie tried, and did it without the slightest trouble. A schoolboy!That's why I'm so upset.

TRANTO (_shaking his head_). You musn't tell me that, Miss Hilda. Ofcourse it was you that did it.

HILDEGARDE (_impatiently; standing up_). But I _do_ tell you.

TRANTO. Sorry! Sorry! Do be merciful! My feelings about you at this verymoment are so, if I may use the term, unbridled--

HILDEGARDE (_with falsegentle calm_). And that's not all. I suppose you haven't by any chancetold father that I'm Sampson Straight?

TRANTO. Certainly not.

HILDEGARDE. You're sure?

TRANTO. Absolutely.

HILDEGARDE. Well, I'm sorry.

TRANTO. Why?

HILDEGARDE (_quietly sarcastic_). Because papa told me you did tell him.Therefore father is a liar. I don't like being the daughter of a liar. Ihate liars.

TRANTO. Aren't you rather cutting yourself off from mankind?

HILDEGARDE (_going straight on_). For the last day or two father hadbeen giving me such queer little digs every now and then that I began tosuspect he knew who Sampson Straight was. So I asked him right out thismorning--he was in bed--and he had to acknowledge he did know and thatyou told him.

TRANTO. Well, I didn't exactly tell him. He sort of guessed, andI--

HILDEGARDE (_calmly, relentlessly_). You told him.

TRANTO. No. I merely admitted it. You think I ought to have denied it?

HILDEGARDE. Of course you ought to have denied it.

TRANTO. But it was true.

HILDEGARDE. And if it was?

TRANTO. If it was true, how could I deny it? You've just said you hateliars.

HILDEGARDE (_losing self-control_). Please don't be absurd.

TRANTO (_a little nettled_). I apologise.

HILDEGARDE. What for?

TRANTO. For having put you in the wrong. It's such shocking baddiplomacy for any man to put any woman in the wrong.

HILDEGARDE (_angrily_). Man--woman! Man--woman! There you are! It'salways the same with you males. Sex! Sex! Sex!

TRANTO (_quite conquering his annoyance; persuasively_). But I'm fatallyin love with you. HILDEGARDE. Well, of course there you have theadvantage of me.

TRANTO. Don't you care a little--

HILDEGARDE (_letting herself go_). Why should I care? What have I doneto make you imagine I care? It's quite true that I've saved yournewspaper from an early grave. It was suffering from rickets, spinalcurvature, and softening of the brain; and I've performed a miraculouscure on it with my articles. I'm Sampson Straight. But that's not enoughfor you. You can't keep sentiment out of business. No man ever could.You'd like Sampson Straight to wear blouses and bracelets for you, andloll on sofas for you, and generally offer you the glad eye. It's aninsult. And then on the top of all, you go and give the whole show awayto papa, in spite of our understanding; and if papa hadn't been thegreatest dear in the world you might have got me into the most seriousdifficulties.

HILDEGARDE. Indeed! And why shouldn't Sampson Straight transfer hisservices to another paper? There are several who'd jump at him.

TRANTO. I never thought of that.

HILDEGARDE. Naturally!

TRANTO. He shall live.

(_A pause_. Tranto _bows, and exit, back_.)

(Hildegarde _subsides once more on to the sofa_.)

_Enter_ Culver, _in his velvet coat, L_.

CULVER (_softly, with sprightliness_). Hello, Sampson!

HILDEGARDE. Dad, please don't call me that.

CULVER. Not when we're alone? Why?

HILDEGARDE. I--I--Dad, I'm in a fearful state of nerves just now. Lostmy temper and all sorts of calamities.

CULVER. Really! I'd no idea. I gathered that the interview between youand your mother had passed quite smoothly.

HILDEGARDE. Oh! _That!_

CULVER. What do you mean--'Oh! _That!_'?

HILDEGARDE (_standing; in a new, less gloomy tone_). Papa, what are youdoing out of bed? You're very ill.

CULVER. Well, I'd managed to dress before your mother and Johnnie came.As soon as they imparted to me the glad tidings that baronetcies wereoff I felt so well I decided to come down and thank you for yoursuccessful efforts on behalf of the family well-being. I'm no longeryour father. I'm your brother.

HILDEGARDE. It was Johnnie did it.

CULVER. It wasn't--_I_ know.

HILDEGARDE (_exasperated_). I say it _was!_ (_Apologetically_). Sosorry, dad. (_Kisses him_). Where are they, those two? (_Sits_).CULVER. Mother and John? Don't know. I fancy somebody called as I camedown.

HILDEGARDE. Called! Before lunch! Who was it?

CULVER. Haven't the faintest.

_Enter_ John, _back_.

JOHN (_proudly_). I say, good people! New acquaintance of mine! Justlooked in. Met him at the Automobile this morning with Skewes. I wassure you'd all give your heads to see the old chap, so I asked him tolunch on the chance. Dashed if he didn't accept! You see we'd beentalking a bit about politics. He's the most celebrated man in London. Idoubt if there's a fellow I admire more in the whole world--or youeither. He's knocked the mater flat already. Between ourselves, I reallyasked him because I thought he might influence her on this baronetcybusiness. However, that's all off now. What are you staring at?

CULVER. We're only bursting with curiosity to hear the name of thisparagon of yours. As a general rule I like to know beforehand whom I'mgoing to lunch with in my own house.

JOHN. It's Sampson Straight.

HILDEGARDE (_springing up_). _Sampson Str_--

CULVER (_calmly_). Keep your nerve, Hilda. Keep your nerve.

JOHN. I thought I wouldn't say anything till he'd actually arrived. Hemightn't have come at all. Then what a fool I should have looked if I'dtold you he _was_ coming! Tranto himself doesn't know him. Trantopooh-poohed the idea of me ever meeting him, Tranto did. Well, I've methim, and he's here. I haven't let on to him that I know Tranto. I'mgoing to bring them together and watch them both having the surprise oftheir lives.

CULVER. John, this is a great score for you. I admit I've never beenmore interested in meeting anyone. Never!

_Enter_ Parlourmaid, _back_.

PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey, sir.

CULVER (_cheerfully_). I'll see her soon. (_Pulling himself up suddenly;in an alarmed, gloomy tone_.) No, no! I can't possibly see her.

PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey says there are several important letters, sir.

STRAIGHT. I ought to apologise for coming in like this. But I've been socharmingly received by Mrs. Culver--

MRS. CULVER. You've been so charming about my boy, Mr. Straight.STRAIGHT. I was so very greatly impressed by your son this morning atthe Club that I couldn't resist the opportunity he gave me of visitinghis home. What I say is: like parents, like child. I'm an old-fashionedman.

MRS. CULVER. No one would guess that from your articles in _The Echo_.Of course they're frightfully clever, but you know I don't quite agreewith all your opinions.

STRAIGHT. Neither do I. You see--there's always a difference betweenwhat one thinks and what one has to write.

MRS. CULVER. I'm so glad. (Culver _starts and looks round_.) What is it,Arthur?

STRAIGHT. It was still thawing when I came in. As I was saying, I'm anold-fashioned man. And I'm a provincial--and proud of it.

MRS. CULVER. But my dear Mr. Straight, really, if you'll excuse me, youlook as if you never left the pavement of Piccadilly. CULVER. Say thewindows of the Turf club, darling.

STRAIGHT (_serenely_). No. I live very, very quietly on my little place,and when I feel the need of contact with the great world I run over forthe afternoon to--St. Ives.

MRS. CULVER. How remarkable! Then that explains how it is you're sodeliciously unspoilt.

STRAIGHT. Do you mean my face?

MRS. CULVER. I meant you don't seem at all to realise that you're a verygreat celebrity in London; very great indeed. A lion of the first order.

STRAIGHT (_simply_). Lion?

CULVER. You're expected to roar, Mr. Straight.

STRAIGHT. Roar?

MRS. CULVER. It may interest you to know that my little daughter alsowrites articles in _The Echo_. Yes, about war cookery. But of course youwouldn't notice them. (Hildegarde _moves away_.) I'm afraid(_apologetically_) your mere presence is making her just a wee bitnervous. HILDEGARDE (_from a distance, striving to control herself_).Oh, Mr. Sampson Straight. There's one question I've been longing to askyou. I always ask it of literary lions--and tigers.

STRAIGHT. Tigers?

HILDEGARDE. Do you write best in the morning or do you burn the midnightoil?

JOHN (_approaching_). But surely you aren't one of those pacifists, Mr.Straight! You've always preached fighting it out to a finish.

STRAIGHT. The object of my syndicate is certainly to fight to a finish,but to finish in about a week--by means of my little syndicate.

CULVER. Splendid! But there is one draw-back. New capital issues areforbidden under the Defence of the Realm Act.

STRAIGHT. Even when the object is to win the war?

CULVER. My dear sir, the Treasury would never permit such a thing.

STRAIGHT. Well, we needn't have a limited company. Perhaps after all itwould be better to keep it quite private.

CULVER. Oh! It would. And what is the central idea of this charmingsyndicate?

STRAIGHT. The idea is--(_looking round cautiously_)--a new explosive.

CULVER. Again, precisely what I thought. Your own invention?

STRAIGHT. No. A friend of mine. It truly is the most marvellous explosive.

CULVER. I suppose it bangs everything.

STRAIGHT (_simply_). Oh, it does. A development of trinitrotoluol on newlines. I needn't say that my interest in the affair is purely patriotic.

CULVER. Of course. Of course.

STRAIGHT. I can easily get all the capital I need.

CULVER. Of course. Of course.

STRAIGHT. But I'm not in close touch with the official world, and in amatter of this kind official influence is absolutely essential tosuccess. Now you _are_ in touch with the official world. I shouldn't askyou to subscribe, though if you cared to do so there would be noobjection. And I may say that the syndicate can't help making atremendous lot of money. When I tell you that the new explosive isforty-seven times as powerful as trinitrotoluol itself--

CULVER. When you tell me that, Mr. Straight, I can only murmur the hopethat you haven't got any of it in your pocket.

STRAIGHT (_simply_). Oh, no! Please don't be alarmed. But you see theimmense possibilities. You see how this explosive would end the warpractically at once. And you'll understand, of course, that although myarticles in _The Echo_ have apparently caused considerable commotion inLondon, and given me a position which I am glad to be able to use forthe service of the Empire, my interest in mere journalism as such hasalmost ceased since my friend asked me to be secretary and treasurer ofthe syndicate.

CULVER. And so you're the secretary _and_ treasurer?

STRAIGHT. Yes. We don't want to have subscribers of less than L100 each.If you cared to look into the matter--I know you're very busy, but amere glance--

CULVER. Just so--a mere glance.

_Enter_ Tranto _excitedly_.

HILDEGARDE (_nearer the door than the rest_). Again?

TRANTO (_rather loudly and not specially to_ Hildegarde). Terrible news!I've just heard and I rushed back to tell you. Sampson Straight has diedvery suddenly in Cornwall. Bright's disease. He breathed his last inhis own potato patch. (_Aside to_ Hildegarde, _in response to a gesturefrom her_) I'm awfully sorry. The poor fellow simply had to expire.

MRS. CULVER (_to_ Tranto). Now this just shows how the most absurdrumours _do_ get abroad! Here _is_ Mr. Sampson Straight. I'm _so_ gladyou've come, because you've always wanted to meet him in the flesh.

TRANTO (_to_ Straight). Are you Sampson Straight?

STRAIGHT. I am, sir.

TRANTO. The Sampson Straight who lives in Cornwall?

STRAIGHT. Just so.

TRANTO. Impossible!

STRAIGHT. Pardon me. One moment. I was told there was a danger of mybeing inconvenienced in London by one of these military raids forrounding up slackers, and as I happen to have a rather youthfulappearance, I took the precaution of bringing with me mybirth-certificate and registration card. (_Produces them_.)

TRANTO (_glancing at the card_). And it's really you who write thosebrilliant articles in _The Echo_?

STRAIGHT. 'Brilliant'--I won't say. But I do write them.

TRANTO. Well, this is the most remarkable instance of survival afterdeath that I ever came across.

STRAIGHT. I beg your pardon.

TRANTO. You're dead, my fine fellow. Your place isn't here. You ought tobe in the next world. You're a humbug.

MRS. CULVER. I'm so sorry. This is Mr. Tranto, proprietor and editor of_The Echo_--(_apologetically, with an uneasy smile_) a great humourist.

STRAIGHT (_thunderstruck; aside_). Well, I'm damned! (_His wholedemeanour changes. Nevertheless, while tacitly admitting that he isfound out, he at once resumes his mild calmness. To_ Culver.) I've justremembered an appointment of vital importance. I'm afraid our littletalk about the syndicate must be adjourned.

CULVER. I feared you might have to hurry away.

(Straight _bows as a preliminary to departure_.)

(John, _deeply humiliated, averts his glance from everybody_.)

TRANTO. Here! But you can't go off like this.

STRAIGHT. Why? Have you anything against me?

TRANTO. Nothing (_casually_) except that you're an impostor.

STRAIGHT. I fail to see it.

TRANTO. But haven't you just said that you write those articles in mypaper?

STRAIGHT. Oh! _That_! Well, of course, if I'd known who you were Ishouldn't have dreamed of saying any such thing. I always try to suit mytalk to my company.

TRANTO. This time you didn't quite bring it off.

STRAIGHT. Perhaps I owe you some slight explanation (_looking roundblandly_).

CULVER. Do you really think so?

STRAIGHT. The explanation is simplicity itself. (_A sudden impulse_.)Nothing but that. Put yourselves in my place. I come to London. I hear avast deal of chatter about some articles in a paper called _The Echo_ bysome one calling himself 'Sampson Straight.' I also hear that nobody inLondon knows who Sampson Straight is. As I happen to _be_ SampsonStraight, and as I have need of all possible personal prestige for thesuccess of my purely patriotic mission, it occurs to me--in a flash!--toassert that I am the author of the famous articles.... Well, what morenatural?

CULVER. What indeed?

STRAIGHT (_to_ Tranto). And may I say that I'm the only genuine SampsonStraight in the United Kingdom, and that in my opinion it was a grossimpertinence on the part of your contributor to steal my name? Why didyou let him do it?

TRANTO (_beginning reflectively_). Now _I_ hit on that name--not mycontributor. It was when I was down in Cornwall. I caught sight of it inan old yellow newspaper in an old yellow hotel, and it struck me at oncewhat a fine signature it would make at the bottom of a slashing article.By the way, have you ever been in the dock?

STRAIGHT. Dock?

TRANTO. I only ask because I seem to remember I saw your splendid namein a report of the local Assizes.

STRAIGHT. Assizes?

TRANTO. A, double s (_pause_) i-z-e-s.

STRAIGHT. I can afford to be perfectly open. I was--at one period of mycareer--in prison, but for a quite respectable crime. Bigamy--withextenuating circumstances.

MRS. CULVER (_greatly upset_). Dear, dear!

STRAIGHT. It might happen to any man.

CULVER (_looking at_ Mrs. Culver). So it might.

STRAIGHT. Do you wish to detain me?

TRANTO. I simply haven't the heart to do it.

STRAIGHT. Then, ladies and gentlemen, I'll say good morning.

HILDEGARDE (_stopping_ Straight _near the door as he departs with morebows_). Good-bye! (_She holds out her hand with a smile_!) And goodluck!

STRAIGHT (_taking her hand_). Madam, I thank you. You evidentlyappreciate the fact that when one lives solely on one's wits, littlemishaps are _bound_ to occur from time to time, and that too muchimportance ought not to be attached to them. This is only my third slip,and I am fifty-five.

HILDEGARDE. But do you mean to say you aren't frightfully shocked by myadvanced politics, mamma?

MRS. CULVER. My child, how naive you are, after all! A woman is nevershocked, though of course at times it may suit her to pretend to be.Only men are capable of being shocked. As for your advanced politics, asyou call them, can't you see that it doesn't matter what you write solong as you are admired by the best people. It isn't views that aredisreputable, it's the persons that hold them.

CULVER. I hope that's why you so gracefully gave way over the baronetcy,my dear.

MRS. CULVER (_continuing to_ Hildegarde). There's just one thing Ishould venture to suggest, and that is, that you cease at once to be atypist and employ one yourself instead. It's most essential that youshould live up to your position. Oh! I'm very proud of you.

HILDEGARDE. I don't quite know what my position is. According to thelatest news I'm dead. (_Challengingly to_ Tranto.) Mr. Tranto, you'rekeeping rather quiet, nearly as quiet as John (John _changes his seat_),but don't you think you owe me some explanation? Not more than a quarterof an hour ago in this very room it was distinctly agreed between usthat you would not kill Sampson Straight, and now you rush back in asort of homicidal mania.

MRS. CULVER. Oh! I'd no idea Mr. Tranto had called already this morning!

HILDEGARDE. Yes. I told him all about everything, and we came to adefinite understanding.

MRS. CULVER. Oh!

TRANTO. I'm only too anxious to explain. I killed Sampson for the mosturgent of all possible reasons. The Government is thinking of giving hima baronetcy?

CULVER. Not _my_ baronetcy?

TRANTO. Precisely.

MRS. CULVER. But this is the most terrible thing I ever heard of.

TRANTO. It is. I met one of my chaps in the street. He was coming hereto see me. (_To_ Culver.) Your answer was expected this morning. Itdidn't arrive. Evidently your notions about titles had got abroad, andthe Government has decided to offer a title to Sampson Straight thisafternoon if you refuse.

CULVER. But how delightfully stupid of the Government.

TRANTO. On the contrary it was a really brilliant idea. Sampson Straightis a great literary celebrity, and he'd look mighty well in the HonoursList. Literature's always a good card to play for Honours. It makespeople think that Cabinet Ministers are educated.

HILDEGARDE. But I've spent half my time in attacking the Government!

TRANTO. Do you suppose the Government doesn't know that? In creating youa baronet (_gazes at her_) it would gain two advantages--it would provehow broad-minded it is, and it would turn an enemy into a friend.

HILDEGARDE. But surely the silly Government would make some enquiriesfirst!

CULVER. Hilda, do remember what your mother said, and try to live up toyour position. This isn't the Government that makes enquiries. It's theGovernment that gets things done.

TRANTO. You perceive the extreme urgency of the crisis. I had to actinstantly. I did act. I slew the fellow on the spot, and his obituarywill be in my late extra. The danger was awful--greater even than Irealised at the moment, because I didn't know till I got back here thatthere was a genuine and highly unscrupulous Sampson Straight floatingabout.

MRS. CULVER. Danger? What danger?

TRANTO. Danger of the Government falling, dear lady. You see, it's likethis. Assuming that the Government offers a baronetcy to SampsonStraight, and the offer becomes public property, as it infallibly would,then there are three alternatives. Either the Government has singled outfor honour a person who doesn't exist at all; or it has sought to turn awoman (_glancing at_ Hilda) into a male creature; or it is holding up topublic admiration an ex-convict. Choose which theory you like. In anycase the exposure would mean the immediate ruin of any Government.

CULVER. Good heavens, my gifted child! No enlightened and patrioticperson wants the Government to fall. All enlightened and patrioticpersons want the Government to be afraid of falling. There you have thewhole of war politics in a nut-shell. If the British Government fell theeffect on the Allied cause would be bad, and might be extremely bad. Butthat's not the real explanation. The real explanation is that no onewants the Government to fall because no one wants to step into theGovernment's shoes. However, thanks to Tranto's masterly presence ofmind in afflicting Sampson with a disease that kills like prussic acid,the Government can no longer give Sampson a title, and the danger to theGovernment is therefore over.

TRANTO. Over! I wish it was! Supposing the Government doesn't happen tosee my late extra in time! Supposing the offer of a baronetcy to SampsonStraight goes forth! The mischief will be done. Worst of all, supposingthe only genuine Sampson Straight hears of it and accepts it! Abaronetcy given to a bigamist! No Government could possibly survive theexposure.

MRS. CULVER. Not even if its survival was necessary to the success ofthe Allied cause?

CULVER (_gloomily, shaking his head_). My dear, Tranto is right. Thisgreat country has always insisted first of all, and before anything elsewhatever, on the unsullied purity of the domestic life of its publicmen. Let a baronetcy be given, or even offered, to a bigamist--and thisgreat country would not hesitate for one second, not one second.

TRANTO. The danger still exists. And only one man in this world canavert it.

CULVER. You don't mean me, Tranto?

TRANTO. I understand that you have neither accepted nor refused theoffer. You must accept it instantly. Instantly.

MRS. CULVER. Have you still got that letter to Lord Woking in whichyour father accepts the title?

JOHN. Yes.

MRS. CULVER. Come here. Let me see it. (_She inspects the envelope ofthe letter and returns it to_ John.) Yes, that's right. Now listen tome. Get a taxi at once and drive to Lord Woking's, and insist on seeingLord Woking, and give him that letter with your own hand. Do youunderstand? (_Exit_ Hildegarde, _L_.) The stamp will be wasted, butnever mind. Fly!

JOHN. It's a damned shame. (Mrs. Culver _smiles calmly_.)

CULVER (_shaking_ John's _flaccid hand_). So it is. But let us remember,my boy, that you and I are--are doing our bit. (_Pushes him violentlytowards the door_.) Get along. (_Exit_ John, _back_.)

CULVER. They're probably too close together for there to be anythingbetween them.

MRS. CULVER (_shakes her head, smiling sceptically_). The new generationhas no romance. (_In a new tone_.) Arthur, kiss me.

CULVER. I'm dashed if I do!

MRS. CULVER. Then I'll kiss you! (_She gives him a long kiss_.)

(_The lunch gong sounds during the embrace. Startled, they separate_.)

CULVER. Food!

MRS. CULVER (_with admiring enthusiasm_). You've behaved splendidly.

CULVER. Yes, that's what you always say when you've won and I--haven't.(_She kisses him again_.)

_Enter the_ Parlourmaid, _back_.

PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey is still waiting, sir.

CULVER. Inexorable creature! I won't--I will not--(_suddenlyremembering that he has nothing to fear from_ Miss Starkey; _gaily_).Yes, I'll see her. She must lunch with us. May she lunch with us,Hermione?